eunandonly

[eunandonly]

　ᅠ 🎶　ᅠ STEP BY STEP 　　────　ᅠ ( han taesan )

　　　ᅠ 한태산⠀⠀◜◡◝ 　 𝒇 reader ⠀wc 14k ( 14484 ) 　teaser

　　　 ⠀ genre slice of life, fluff, hints of angst with comfort, strangers to lovers, producer au, slow burn, grumpy x sunshine (lowkey), small town retreat au, nonverbal communication, quiet love

　　　⠀ contains mentions of food, crying, physical touch, (past) trauma and accidents. disclaimer reader-insert character is portrayed as a woman and a mute person. i tried my best to represent it with care and respect, but please note that i am not mute, so i sincerely apologise in advance if it is somewhat inaccurate𑁋i welcome any feedback and correction!

　　　⠀ notes hello everyone~ IT IS FINALLY HEREEEEE!!! MY MAN’S BDAY FIC IS HERE!!! good lord i am so relieved that this is finished hehe, so happy belated birthday to my ideal type, han taesan!! i hope you had a good day, continue being you <3 OH and to those who showed interest in this, i thank you so much! please leave comments about what you think of this fic (i worked on it so hard yk, couldn’t do my schoolwork to complete this...!!!) and reblog as well~!

⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　 　◁ II ▷ 　 step by step by boynextdoor, i’ll like you by illit, give me your forever by zack tabudlo, pick your brain by lyn lapid, to you by seventeen, panorama by iz*one, love scenario by iKon, searching for love by yuji & dept.

“JUST go, maybe it’ll clear up your head. You’ve been cooped up for so long.”

Jaehyun’s words ring inside Dongmin’s head the entire journey towards Tongyeong-si. He didn’t want to follow his friend’s advice, at first, because… what’s the point? He’s gone through this many times before—it’ll go away in no time. 

Except, it didn’t, you idiot, Dongmin reminds himself. 

His songwriter’s block was terrible this time. His agency and fans had been asking for a new release for three months. Usually, he’d be able to produce a song, at worst a digital single, in that huge amount of time. But this time, he’s totally out of it. Three months, and… nothing.

Not a single lyric at all.

Nothing made sense to him. 

He tried producing at home, at the studio, at the cafe. He basically tried every single spot he could think of in the entirety of Seoul. 

But nothing could squeeze even one line of lyric out of his usually genius brain.  

Han Taesan, the producing prodigy of the music industry, is finally slowing down.

Knowing that he might actually go insane over this, he begrudgingly decided to pack his things, take a few weeks of leave from the studio, and left for Tongyeong-si, a seaside town far away from the hustle and bustle of the loud city. 

And now Dongmin is here by the beach, sitting on a fallen trunk of a palm tree, his pants dusted with fine sand and his thigh propping up his guitar. He’s lost in thought—his eyes stare blankly into the canvas of an orange and pink hued sunset in front of him, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore going into his ear and out another. 

He can’t even pinpoint what he’s really thinking about. His thoughts are disheveled, unorganised—he’s in desperate need of a new song, and he can’t be doing something like this right now; but at the same time, his body is relaxed. Like it’s finally getting the peace and the rest it’s been asking for. 

WEEK 1.

The first few mornings are the same repeated routine, but instead of rushing to the company’s studio or stumbling to the monitor as soon as his eyes open, Dongmin is sitting at the beach. He’s there early every morning, sitting on the sand, letting the sound of nature be the music to his ears. His guitar is on his lap, his fingers mindlessly strumming. He tried squeezing his brain for some melody—anything, even 3 seconds would do—but he just got himself frustrated in the end. 

Today was the same. He dragged himself out of bed, grabbing his guitar as he slipped a hoodie on. He doesn’t even bother to eat breakfast or anything. He just jogs straight to the beach, sits down on a fallen palm tree.

There, as soon as his body begins to rhythm with the melody of the ocean, his fingers start to pick the strings of his guitar. No thoughts, nothing planned, nothing significant—just a random melody, a bit odd, but somehow goes well with the crash of the waves.

The day went by as usual. When the sun starts to be more of a pain rather than a warm comfort, Dongmin slips back into his homestay. He rests his guitar against the wall and throws himself onto his bed, doing nothing—not falling asleep, not scrolling on his phone. Just staring at the white ceiling above him. 

It’s driving him crazy, sometimes, that it feels like he’s doing absolutely nothing here. But somehow, it feels weirdly okay. Like he’s not constantly pushing himself to work his bones out. 

Later that afternoon, after  a very late lunch of a half-assed sandwich, he goes out to the beach again. 

The cicadas are louder today, their relentless and annoying tune disrupting the calm hum of the sea. Dongmin is sitting alone on the fallen palm tree, the salty wind blowing against his face. His guitar rests on his thigh, his finger idly brushing against its strings, barely making any sound. He feels emptier today than he did the past few days—like the weight of his burnout is finally catching up to him. 

Dongmin lifts his head, and he sees her. She’s there, sitting on the sand just a few metres away from where he is. He doesn’t know her name, but he’s always seen her. She doesn’t speak a word, doesn’t approach him, but she’s always there, quietly listening to his meaningless chords and his half-thought melodies. 

Dongmin thought today was going to be like every other day—she’s going to stay with him until the sun went to sleep, and just before he got up to leave, she’d disappear first. 

At first, Dongmin felt uncomfortable knowing that she was there everyday to listen to him playing. It felt like she was there to disturb his long awaited tranquility, like she was going to make his life harder. But after his second day, suddenly, he didn’t mind it all. Her quiet company wasn’t too bad at all. 

When the sun is barely visible against the horizon and the waves begin splashing against his ankles, Dongmin turns to the girl. 

She’s going to leave anytime soon. 

Until she didn’t immediately get up and disappear like she always did. 

She scribbles something in the sand, her odd behaviour catching Dongmin’s attention even more. 

You play well.

He blinks at the words, heart stuttering slightly as he registers what they mean, but before he can respond, she’s already walking away.

Dongmin turns around so quickly his guitar slips out of his hold. “Thanks!” he exclaims, awkward. 

The girl freezes in her steps. She turns to him, smiling faintly before leaving Dongmin in a daze. A daze so strange he didn’t even realise his guitar was now wet against the sand. 

What?

WEEK 2.

That incident leaves Dongmin intrigued and more curious than ever. 

The next day, after about ten minutes of mindlessly strumming the guitar, Dongmin lifts his head up to the sound of footsteps approaching. He quickly turns around.

It’s her. 

She stops in her tracks just an arm’s reach behind Dongmin, eyes a little widened from surprise. She clearly didn’t expect to have Dongmin already looking at her. 

He smiles first, slightly. Then, slowly, she returns his gesture with a small nod. 

Before he can say anything, she brings out a small notebook and a pen from the sling bag on her shoulder. Dongmin watches, his words suddenly dying on his tongue, as she scribbles something. 

That was a D minor, wasn’t it?

Dongmin had a bunch of phrases he planned to say listed in his head, in case of an interaction with this oddly quiet girl. But this… this isn’t like anything he expected. 

To make things worse, now frozen in the moment, he remembers nothing. Not even a casual “hi, I’m Dongmin, and you are?” that he practiced in front of the mirror a few times. He sits there, his back twisted as he looks back at the girl, not knowing what to say. 

“Yeah…” he nods. 

Much to his surprise, the girl smiles to herself. She scribbles again before holding the notebook up to his face. 

Knew it. 

“You can smile…” Dongmin murmurs subconsciously, and as soon as he realises what he just said, his eyes widens. “WAIT-! I-I meant, yeah. You… know music too?”

The girl’s smile fades away, and the corners of her lips slightly tugging upwards is the only remnant left. Dongmin braces himself as she jots down her reply. 

A bit. 

Dongmin grins, and in one swift motion, he turns his whole body towards her. He props his guitar properly against his lap, and begins playing a short melody, a snippet from one of his latest songs. “This? Any observations?”

C major. 

Dongmin chuckles gently, and nods. “Then-”

But the way you played it made it sound lonely. 

Dongmin’s breath catches. A C major was supposed to be bright, full of sunlight—at least that’s what he always thought. But somehow, with one sentence, you’d cracked it open and showed him the shadows hiding inside.

Dongmin didn’t know anything about the ocean or the nature around him, but somehow, the sea seemed to respond to the turmoil in his heart that stirred as soon as he read her words—the waves crashing rather violently behind him spoke on his behalf. 

Dongmin presses his lips together, throat tight. “I guess…”

Promptly, he throws his gaze away, trying to find the words that could continue the conversation amongst the shells tucked in the sand. 

The sound of the pen scratching against the paper makes Dongmin look back.

I’m Y/N. You are?

The message came with a soft smile, barely there, but it was enough to pull Dongmin in. 

“Dongmin. My name is Han… Dongmin.”

WEEK 3.

DONGMIN sees you everyday, and slowly, you’re carved into his morning routine. For the past three weeks, you’ve brought him breakfast—each day a different one—because you somehow guessed that he didn’t fill his stomach before coming to the beach. He never told you, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes as you watched him devour the breakfast you brought him made his heart somersault in a way he never thought it would. 

Everyday goes by the same groove. You both would sit next to each other, sometimes across one another, on the beach. He’d play and you’d listen. You’d comment on his strumming of the guitar, talk about random things here and there. 

Through the small, quiet conversations he had with replying to your scribbles, he found out that your favourite flowers are pink carnations, you love vanilla instead of chocolate cake, and most importantly, you loved playing the guitar, just like him. 

Loved. 

The way it was past tense made Dongmin’s chest feel heavy.

Then, on a Tuesday afternoon in the third week of his stay, Dongmin asks, “by the way, Y/N, do you play?” 

You slowly meet his gaze, pen loose between your fingers. Hesitation clouds your eyes, and after a while, you show him your reply: 

Used to. Acoustic guitar. High school band. I loved it.

Dongmin nods, his interest piquing. For him, it’s hard to picture that such a timid and quiet girl, who prefers to communicate with scribbles on paper, once played in a high school band. “Oh, then what did you…”

His words fade into the air, falling off his mouth as soon as he sees the new words you wrote. You’re holding up the small notebook towards him, your hands slightly shaking. 

But then I couldn’t. 

“C-couldn’t?” Dongmin blurts, blinking rapidly, “...what do you mean?”

He watches without another word, silently observing your hand writing down each word. Each stroke of the pen is slower than the last.

I had an accident. Last year.

You hesitate, swallowing thickly before continuing. Dongmin, who’s in front of you, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t push for an answer. He just waits quietly. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say, either.

You flip the book back to him. 

I lost my parents. Everything. 

Dongmin glances up to your face. The calm expression you always wore was no more. Instead, something different is painted across your facial features—pain, or some kind of emotion you’ve been holding in for some time. More raw. 

Tears begin to collect in the brim of your eyes. 

My hand. My voice. 

The last bit comes later, the handwriting evidently shakier. Then, your hand freezes mid-letter. Dongmin blinks rapidly, panic rising to his throat as he processes the sight in front of him—your right hand violently shaking, frozen as the pen you’re holding drops to the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He gets up, the guitar forgotten. He reaches for your trembling hand. It doesn’t stop shaking, even in his hold. 

“Y/N.” 

Dongmin calls, looking up to your face, your eyes red and brimmed with tears threatening to fall. “What’s going on?”

You simply shake your head, a rough, incoherent sound escaping your mouth. Not quite a word, not quite a cry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dongmin says, reaching for the pen. He slides it into your hand. “Here, I’ve got it for you. We can talk about something else, okay? It’s okay.”

The pen drops out of your grip, and again, Dongmin picks it up. His frown deepens, and your right hand is still shaking.

You shake your head again.

“C-can you at least tell me what’s going on?” Dongmin asks, his eyes fixed on your right hand. “Maybe we can go to the hospital-?” You smack him using your left hand. You shake your head firmly. 

Then, with that same hand, you manage to scrawl:

No. 

Injury. Hand.

“Oh,” Dongmin breathes, and his grip on your right hand loosens a little bit. “Then…”

It’s only been about 6 months since I could even hold utensils properly.

You write your reply on the notebook, your undominant hand causing your handwriting to be almost illegible. The letters form words very slowly, but Dongmin remains still, his hands still around yours, waiting for you.

Dongmin’s shoulders droop down. “Is it… because of the accident?” 

You sigh, nodding. You slip your right hand out of his clasp, now that it stopped vibrating like crazy. You grab the pen, fingers now steadier. You smile faintly, seeing the worried expression on Dongmin’s face. 

It’s okay. I usually can write. Slowly, most of the time. 

You smile to yourself—almost shyly, as if embarrassed by your own emotion, you add:

I guess… I was excited to talk to you about chords today. 

Dongmin stares at the writing engraved into the page, uncertain of what to say at first. His heart begins to tighten with feelings he can’t arrange into words. 

Well, it’s nothing, actually. 

The sentence you wrote isn’t something people would drop down on their knees and cry over. But it came from you—the girl he just met on his vacation away from the city—someone who had music ripped away from her life.

The words he’s staring at, carved onto paper, feels like an honest confession. 

Not a confession of love, not yet. 

Not of guilt. 

They were heavier than that—your words conveyed emotions of longing. 

Of wanting something that you can’t have no matter how hard you reach for it. Something that you miss too deeply it aches physically in your chest. 

And Dongmin, against all logic, finds himself aching right alongside you.

He looks down at your hands. One is still trembling, but still clutching the pen with so much effort. Like it meant the world to even be able to hold it between your fingers. 

He recalls the comments you made about his tunes and his melodies—the way you noticed why he put certain chords into his arrangements, the way even a minor change would affect the emotion the song carried. 

It wasn’t empty comments, made by someone who wanted to get on his good side. It was genuine. Casual, yet they were filled with knowledge—you know what you’re talking about.

And to be honest, Dongmin has never met someone like you. 

Then, for the first time in a while, he says what’s on his mind. 

“I’ve never met someone like you. Someone who listens so deeply like you do,” his voice comes out quiet, but it’s loud enough for you to catch.

You tilt your head, clearly not expecting that to come out of his mouth.

“I’d be honoured to have you listen to my music,” he continues, his thoughts escaping his lips, smooth like a waterfall. Unfiltered, genuine. 

“And, honestly… you deserve to do more than just listen.”

You blink. 

Dongmin takes a deep breath, the susurrus of the ocean breeze going through his hair. His hand brushes the back of his neck, and he hesitates. Only for a second. “Do… you want to learn how to play again?”

It might be a stupid decision. Something that he could greatly mess up—he never taught someone to play an instrument before. 

Honestly, Dongmin doesn’t know why he even offered. 

“I’ll help you.”

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of the ocean and your sharp inhale. 

WEEK 4.

“WHY not?”

At first, your eyes widened—the flicker of hope in them was like a flame that was eager to burn after so long. The flame was strong despite being masked by thick walls built over time, and it made Dongmin feel hopeful too. 

But then you shook your head. Not firm, not many times. Not harshly at all. Just once. Slow. 

You pick up your pen again, writing with effort. 

Thank you. But I… 

The pen hovers above the paper for a while. 

I don’t think I can. 

Dongmin frowns. “I’m not–”

Your answer comes quickly, despite your shaky hand, cutting off Dongmin. 

I’m scared. 

There’s a pause. You don’t meet his eyes. 

“Y/N.” 

I’ll fail. I’ll mess up. I know. My hand will hurt again. I’ll remember… too much. Of the past.

“Hey,” Dongmin lowers his voice. He’s never been through what you have—but somehow, through the tremble present in your eyes as you avoid his gaze, he knows exactly how you feel. “It’s okay, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to ace it right away.”

You don’t write anything in reply. 

“But, Y/N, I think,” he continues, voice soft, “you can do it.”

You lift your head up, finally meeting Dongmin’s gaze. 

“You won’t be alone,” he adds, “I’ll be with you.”

The wind blows softly, caressing your cheeks. The salty breeze doesn’t sting your eyes this time, as if the sea is in agreement with the young man in front of you. 

“The whole time.”

You clench your jaw, grabbing your notebook. After a while, you flip it back to him. 

What if I can’t? 

You don’t know me. 

Dongmin looks at you. This time, he really does. 

And he notices everything that he didn’t catch before—the dark circles beneath your eyes that contained every secret you carry, the empty place in your eyes where flames of determination and cheer used to burn. Beneath the mask of the calm you always wear, there are scars and wounds poorly stitched together, some still bleeding. 

“Yeah. You’re right. I don’t know you.” 

But Dongmin, despite only knowing you for merely a few weeks, knew that the torn side of you didn’t define who you were. 

It’s a part of you, but it’s not the entire you. 

Because despite all the flaws, he sees the beautiful side of you—the way you smile to yourself, appreciating the world around you even when it feels like everything’s against you; the way you don’t let your injury get the best of you. The way you work hard for everything.

He reaches for your hands, pauses midair. 

“But I know… that you’re still you. You’re still Y/N, even if you’re not the same Y/N as before.”

Dongmin doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t know if he’s even saying the right thing. 

He lets his hands touch yours. 

It’s subtle, but he hopes it’s enough to convey what he means. His thumb brushes your knuckles, each touch lingering a little longer than he’d like. 

“Your fingers will shake. You won’t be able to play more than one chord a day. It will sound like nothing before,” Dongmin offers a small smile. “I’ll still be here to listen to it all.”

You stare at him, gazes locked into one another, for a long time. Your eyes are glassy with tears, unreadable underneath its storm. The world seems to be put on mute—the waves hush, the cicadas hold their breath, and even Dongmin forgets how to breathe. 

For a moment, he wonders if you’ll walk away. If you’ll give up when he’s already offering his hand. If you’ll shatter this fragile thing going on between the two of you before it even begins. 

The two of you sit in silence, facing each other, hands over one another’s, barely touching. The look in your eyes tells Dongmin everything—like you’re deciding if you want to laugh or cry. 

Then, finally, with trembling fingers, you slip your hand away and write your reply. 

Just one chord.

Dongmin grins. “Just one.”

DONGMIN opens the gate to his homestay, eyes almost popping out of their sockets at the sight of you. Awkwardness washes all over him—he’s still in his hoodie and shorts, and you’re already standing in front of him in a flowy sundress, hair clip tucked to the side. 

You show him your notebook. 

Good morning ^^ 

Dongmin grins slightly. “Yeah. Good morning,” he says, looking at you. 

He then continues in a teasing tone, “You’re early.”

You shrug before scribbling down your reply: I didn’t know what time to come. 

Dongmin mentally smacks himself. He was too caught up in his excitement to teach you yesterday that he forgot to set the time to meet. “Oh, um, then– any time works. I’m…”

He shrugs, his arms falling to his sides. “I have nothing else to do anyway.”

You give him a small smile, and almost instantly, he smiles too. 

“Well–”

You look up from your notebook, pen stopping mid-sentence. Dongmin, realising that you’re in the middle of writing something, widens his eyes. 

“Um- it’s okay, continue writing, I’m- I was gonna say nothing important,” he blurts, his cheeks suddenly getting flushed when the corner of your lips curl up a little. “D-do you want to come in for a bit? I need to… I need to get changed.”

You pause, nodding slowly afterward. 

After making sure you’re settled comfortably in the living room of the house, Dongmin rushes into his room. 

Dongmin has never changed that fast in his life before, not even when he was about to barely miss the commute to work. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, put on a fresh pair of clothes and even sprayed on some deodorant. 

He comes out of his room still ruffling his hair, suddenly wondering what the heck he is actually doing right now. You immediately perk up at the sound of his footsteps approaching.

“Have you eaten?” Dongmin asks, clearing his throat. 

You shake your head. Dongmin opens his mouth to reply, but is stopped when you hold your hand out, meaning stop. You slip your hand into your sling bang and bring out a small food container, immediately showing it to him.

Dongmin tilts his head slightly. “Is this for me? No, wait, you made breakfast?”

You nod, your hands still extending the container in his direction. 

“For us? Or for you?”

You nod, but then quickly, you shake your head. Dongmin blinks profusely. He runs his hand through his hair and ruffles it harshly, frustrated. 

“Oh my God, this is confusing–” 

You shove the container into his hands then grab your notebook. You show him the sentence you’ve written earlier. 

Can you sign? 

Dongmin’s eyes flutter rapidly again. “No…” he replies, sheepishly laughing. 

You snicker quietly before jotting down your reply. 

Idiot. You should’ve learned. How are you going to talk to me without looking stupid?

Dongmin scoffs, about to throw a remark into the conversation, but he is stopped by your laughter. There isn’t any sound, just pure joy displayed by a genuine grin and teary eyes. 

He has never seen anything like that before. He never knew that he could feel a sincerity behind such quiet, soundless laughter. That people could deliver emotions smoothly without making even the slightest noise. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles to himself, “I should’ve learned.”

AFTER finishing the potato pancakes you made for breakfast, the two of you find your way to the beach, the fallen palm tree where he first met you. You walk following Dongmin’s shadow, wondering, in the silence, how such a man could be so tall. 

Dongmin waits for you to settle yourself first before sitting down next to you, the distance awkward but somehow perfect—not too close, not too far from each other. 

He holds his guitar in his hands, and you notice that his hold on the guitar is tighter than it’s ever been. You feel his eyes trained on you as you put away your things, his breath exhaling slowly. 

“You ready?”

You nod, turning to him. 

He then gently places his guitar on your lap. 

“We’ll start with C major,” he says as you try to adjust the position you’re holding the guitar. “You know that, right?”

You nod.

“Okay,” he exhales shakily. He smiles, slightly, but his chest feels tight—too nervous. What if he messes this up—a chance for you to be able to do something you loved again? 

As soon as the guitar lands in your hands, you notice that they certainly seem to remember how to do it all, but it feels stiff. Slightly painful. 

“Just press down using your index finger,” Dongmin continues. Your eyes meet him briefly before continuing. “No pressure if it feels stiff.”

You hesitate, your eyes glancing at the strings like they’re sharp glass. You know what to do. You know how to produce the most effortless C major. You’ve done it many times before. 

But your right hand is trembling. It hovers above the fretboard, not quite touching, afraid to start. 

What am I doing? 

I used to be able to do this so easily. And now, I can’t even-

“You don’t have to play it,” Dongmin’s voice pops the bubble you’re in, “just hold it.”

You take one glance at Dongmin, then a deep breath. Your fingers press down, slowly. They miss. Slant. But you swallow it all—you try again. And again. 

Dongmin is quiet and focused, the feeling of eyes watching you breathe through it all is the only reminder that tells you he’s still here. 

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t correct anything. Just let you do it. Over and over again. Keeping you company alongside the soft, salty ocean breeze. 

He’s there—patient, quiet, observing. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t comment on anything. Doesn’t fix your grip or sigh in frustration. He simply waits—steady and forbearing—until the faintest melody hums against the strings. 

A C major that’s barely there. Fragile and broken. But it’s there. 

You can’t even properly hear it—but you feel it, and it’s just enough to make relief wash through you, leaving you feeling like you’ve just taken the best swim of your life. Like air filling in your lungs after being held underwater for so long. Raw, dizzying. 

A smile unknowingly blooms on your face. 

You look up, meeting Dongmin’s eyes. He’s already grinning, pride evident across his expressions. 

“Good job.”

WEEK 5.

The next day, Dongmin finds himself waking up earlier than his alarm. He knows his schedule, and he prioritises sleep above a lot of other things in his life, so to say he was surprised by his own behaviour was an understatement. 

He went to sleep with lingering thoughts of what to teach you next, and now, the first thing that he thinks of when he’s only half awake is whether you’re already making your way towards his place. 

Crap. 

Dongmin literally leaps off his bed, and rushes to get ready for the day. Today, he actually takes his time: doing his entire morning skincare routine (which is just brushing teeth, washing his face and slapping on some sunscreen and chapstick), and genuinely putting some thought into his choice of clothes. 

He’s halfway through a banana when he hears the gates of his homestay rattle, causing the banana to almost slip out of his hand. 

“What the hell,” he whispers to himself, massaging his chest with his free hand. 

Dongmin isn’t like this. He doesn’t flinch at anything that usually would scare people. He doesn’t really find himself reacting too much to things, with the exception of things that he genuinely is interested in and such. 

But why is every encounter with you making him giddy and jumpy like a teenager who’s excited to see his… crush?

What the hell, no.

Shoving the rest of the banana into his mouth, Dongmin runs to the gate. He swallows his grin. “Hi, Y/N. You’re early.”

You grimace, shaking your head. You pull out your notebook to write your reply, and after a while, you show it to Dongmin. 

Says you. Yesterday, you weren’t even dressed properly when I came. 

Dongmin glances at the girl in front of him. He scoffs, his amused grin betraying him. How can such a figure that he towers over contain sass the size of a giant twice his size? 

“Fine, you win, whatever the argument is about,” Dongmin huffs, his heart doing a little hooray when the corner of your lips twitch into a small smile. He clears his throat and immediately proceeds to swing the gate open. “Have you eaten?”

You shake your head. You point towards the obvious bulge of a food container in your sling bag.

“You brought food?” Dongmin asks, letting you in. “What’s the menu for today?”

He strolls behind you, letting you take a seat on the front stairs. He waits for you, patient, as you pull out your notebook to jot down your reply. 

“I should really learn sign language,” he mutters under his breath. He hopes you didn’t hear him, but the slight smirk on your face says otherwise. 

You show him your answer. 

I made some gimbap. 

Dongmin nods his head along. 

Is that too simple for you?

“What?” Dongmin gasps, “what made you think that?”

You write down your reply with a teasing grin. You’re a city boy. Figured you don’t like simple stuff like gimbap. 

“‘City boy’?” Dongmin scorns. He glances at his reflection by the window. “Do I really look like one?”

You nod, grinning. 

No sound escaped your lips, again, but this time, Dongmin could hear the way your voice would project your laughter. 

A melody. Soft and caressing. Gentle but strong. 

WEEK 6-7.

Two weeks passed by. It doesn’t feel like a lot of time has passed, but one thing was evident for Dongmin. 

He’s looking forward to seeing you every single day. 

You wore a different dress each day—sundresses, usually in floral or subtle pastel patterns, a white tee and shorts on the hotter days. Sometimes you’d tie your hair up, low messy bun or ponytail. Other times you’d braid it or clip it up, or when the weather was a bit more gloomier, you’d let it down. 

Each day went through the same routine, but there would always be—at least one—moment that managed to play in Dongmin’s mind all week long. 

Monday, he sat with you at the usual beach spot, side by side on the fallen palm tree. You’ve been trying to play the E minor chord for the past ten minutes, struggling to press the right positions. 

Dongmin, for the past ten minutes, had been alternating between staring at you and your fingers pressing against the neck of the guitar. Not knowing what to do or what to say. 

You grunted for the eighth time in a row. 

Then, Dongmin leaned in, gently taking your hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, perfect like it was molded to fit—guiding you through the triad of E, G, and B chords like he’s tracing warmth into muscle memory. 

Your hands were overlapping against each other’s. 

Skin against skin.

Your breath catched. 

“Here,” he murmured. He wasn’t that close, but he swore he could feel his sleeve brushing against your arm. “That’s it.”

He lets go, and you finally manage it, and it’s clumsy. Of course. 

But it’s there. 

A full minor chord. 

Dongmin smiled, softly, and he watched as you slowly mirrored it. 

Wednesday: Dongmin was munching seaweed crisps as he’s watching you practice the C, A, and Em chords, then moving on to the D chord. 

You pressed the string, but your wrist cramps from all the tension. You winced—Dongmin promptly dropped the pack of crisps from his hand. 

You pulled your hand away and immediately reached for your notebook, probably wanting to write an apology, but Dongmin stopped you. 

“Don’t apologise,” he said, firm and kind. He closed the notebook. “You showed up, Y/N. You did well today. And that’s enough.”

You leaned back, your head lowering in clear disappointment. Dongmin took the guitar from you, propping it up on his lap. He glanced at you, his chest swirling slightly with emotions he can’t quite put a finger on. 

He handed you the pack of seaweed crisps. “Your fingers remember,” he said as the pack of crisps changes hands, “Let’s not rush them.”

You nodded, a smile barely pulling at your face. Looking away, you took a deep breath, letting the ocean’s breeze wash through you. 

Friday. You’ve been working hard at practicing every single basic chord. Dongmin was right—your fingers did remember how to play them. It was just a matter of getting them to do so again. 

Your fingers pressed down the guitar’s strings for a C7 chord. Shaky but steady. 

Dongmin nodded. “Okay. Good. Now, strum.”

You did. It’s there—faint, buzzy. Slightly off. 

But the sound that came out was still music. 

Still yours. 

Your eyes widened slightly. 

“There,” Dongmin said softly. You turned to look at him, your eyes locking. “That’s your first step back.”

You snorted quietly, frustrated—but you knew you can’t really do anything about it other than practice again and again. 

Saturday—you were at his homestay, mindlessly brushing your fingers against the strings of his guitar. Behind you, Dongmin was in the kitchen, trying to cook up two servings for army stew in that tiny, cramped space—the best of the best, he’d said to you moments before. 

You pressed down the strings again, aiming for a G major. You strummed. 

It sounded like a screeching donkey. If that was even possible. 

You winced, and before you could even retreat into embarrassment, you heard Dongmin gasp loudly from the kitchen. You turned around, seeing Dongmin failing to hide his lopsided smirk, clutching his chest dramatically with the ladle still in hand. 

“Was that a G?” he cried, disbelieving laughs escaping between his words, “because I feel… I don’t know, devastated? I thought I taught you better than that?”

You blinked at him. 

Then, you snorted—softly at first, then harder. Your shoulders began to shake uncontrollably in fits of silent laughter. 

He unleashed his full grin by now. He gestured to his guitar in your hold with the ladle. “Try again. Impress me like how you did before.”

That same day, an hour or two after late lunch, you two sat by the window of Dongmin’s homestay. The evening’s warm golden light streamed in, dancing between you and him. Dongmin’s guitar rested on your lap, and somehow you felt nervous as heck. 

Your fingers hovered above the strings. 

“Forget the whole chord,” he encouraged very gently, “Just press the bottom string. We’re going light now, we just had a whole meal.”

You raised a brow at his instructions. Is he being serious?

Dongmin nodded, as if he’s sensing your inner turmoil. 

“You can do it,” he said, “go on.”

You gulped slowly, your hands feeling stiff before you could even lift them up to the strings. 

You didn’t want to mess this up. You didn’t want to jinx the progress you’re having with Dongmin, especially after all the struggle you went through for it. 

You glanced at Dongmin. He’s waiting, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Taking a deep breath, you put your fingers on the strings. The melody buzzed a little bit, but it held. 

Dongmin snapped his fingers, grinning. “Perfect. Very good. Just what I need.”

Then he started to sing softly—a melody you’ve never heard of before. Catchy and groovy, definitely would sound better layered with geomungo, janggu, drums and electric bass, instead of the bottom string of an acoustic guitar. You watched him, wide eyed, as he sang a short chorus: 

“Step by step, don’t leave me, summer Give me memories worth breaking for.”

Your breath catched at the tip of your throat, but you continued playing. 

It might just be lyrics to Dongmin, or to anyone else listening, but somehow… It meant so much more to you.

“Step by step, before the sadness finds its way Come back to me again.”

Your thumbs strummed again. He stopped singing, but began humming the melody instead. 

The sound that came from the guitar was small, imperfect—just a trembling chord. But with his humming and the way he looked at you with an amount of hope you could never have for yourself, it didn’t feel broken. It felt whole. 

And for the first time in a year, you felt like you were part of a song again.

WEEK 8.

So…rry.

Dongmin’s phone lay flat on his bed, displaying a chart of basic phrases in Korean Sign Language, its brightness at the maximum level. The sun had gone to sleep a long time ago, but Dongmin wasn’t about to join her in dreamland just yet. 

Over the past two months, Dongmin found himself growing fond of talking to you. He didn’t mind waiting for you to jot down your reply, no matter how long it took.  He enjoyed watching your expressions as you wrote, the small smile that lingered on your face long after a successful conversation. 

But he noticed the way you had to pause more often before writing or strumming the guitar, and realised that both activities at once are pushing your hand to its limit. He noticed the way you kept going despite all that, holding the pain in. It made his heart claw against his chest, and then, as every second being with you passed, he became more eager to find a way to talk to you a little more easily, in a way that wouldn’t strain you too much. 

He found out that you learnt KSL right after you recovered, and is using it to communicate with everyone else in the village who knows how to sign. 

Dongmin felt dumb. If he could spend hours at the beach, playing his guitar and producing meaningless melodies, then he definitely could learn KSL. Something meaningful, something that would grant him the ticket to talk to you even more. 

I’m… learning… K… S… L. 

His hands move slowly, stiff. He’s never done anything like this before, and for him, it is quite hard to master—his fingers fumble at every turn, and every sign he does looks a little too different than what he intended to make. He ends up going back and forth from a chart to Youtube videos, then rewinding the video three times in a row just to memorise the correct way to move his wrist for “I miss you”. 

He doesn’t even know why he’s learning that specific phrase. 

He mouths the word he’s signing slowly, mimicking the shape that the video is demonstrating, his fingers rather rigid and clumsy. 

“I… miss… you.”

The words slip out of his mouth slowly. Hesitant. But not empty. 

He rewinds the video once again, and imitates the sign. Not too bad. But not as good as he wants it to be.

Dongmin drops his hands into his lap, exhaling loudly. His brows furrow slightly, but it isn’t from annoyance. Not from frustration, but focus. He tries again.

He speaks the words as he signs them. 

“I’m… learning… K… S… L…”

“For… you…”

His fingers curve through each letter, each sign like they’re chords he’s never strummed before. It’s awkward, a little frustrating and rigid, but he does it anyway. 

Your words—the ones that catalysed the start to all of this—echoes through his mind. 

Just one chord.

Dongmin’s fingers freeze mid-sign. He hadn’t meant to fall. Not this fast. 

Not at all. 

He’d told himself he’d stay only a month; two months in, he was still surprised to be staying on. He expected none of this—nothing along the lines of teaching a girl around his age how to play the guitar. Nothing along the chords of having his heart race upon the thought of a stranger’s smile. 

Nothing that would’ve made him extend his stay here for more than a month.

But watching your smile made him freeze in his tracks. Watching you laugh soundlessly when your fingers slipped, trying to play the D chord for the first time this morning. Watching your eyes light up when he played the melody he created, but with the addition you asked him to put in… it undid something in him. 

Slowly. Steadily. So effortlessly he didn’t even notice. 

And now here Dongmin was. Sitting cross legged on the bed, deep into the night, memorising every sign that holds a chance of, one day, seeing your eyes truly light up again. 

He signed up for a class. Been following it religiously every single day for the past two weeks. 

A sigh escapes him.

Then, he signs your name. The one he saw a kid sign to refer to you once. 

“Y/N.”

Pause. 

Breath held. 

Then, slowly, “I hope I’ll see you again, even after I leave.”

The silence in the room leans into him, like it’s listening, agreeing to the wish Dongmin’s heart whispered. 

He glances at the mirror leaning against the wall across the bed. He sees his reflection: hair tousled, eyes red and tired, fingers frozen midair in an unfinished thought.  

He smiles to himself—small, almost too self-conscious. 

“You better not mess this up, Han Dongmin.”

WEEK 9.

IT’S the next day. Week 9 of his getaway. 

 “Y/N,” Dongmin exhales, a smile forming on his face almost immediately. 

He was waiting in front of your house, his guitar bag slinged over his shoulder, a tiffin carrier in his hands. 

You look surprised when you open the gates, your eyes widening as you see him already standing in front of your house. 

You take out your book in a rush, jotting down a quick but very shaky reply. 

You’re here already?

Dongmin nods.

His smile grows wider, more shyer.

He immediately retracts it. 

He winces, slightly, hoping you don’t notice.

Mentally, he’s cursing at himself. 

You and him are literally just friends, bonding over your shared love for music. 

He’s teaching you to play guitar again after years of not being able to. 

Just that. 

Nothing more.

“Yeah,” he nods, suddenly breathless. 

You blink. Pen hovering over the notebook.

Dongmin exhales shakily. “Oh. Right.” 

He awkwardly lifts his hand, bringing the tiffin carrier next to his face. “I brought food.”

You raise your brows, already scribbling your reply. 

You made them?

Dongmin flinches at the pen’s scratching against the paper as you underline “you” twice. 

He sucks in his breath sharply, looking down. He isn’t too sure how to answer this. 

“Well… yes? Kind of. Wait, no. Yes. I definitely did.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I made bibimbap,” he says, lowering the carrier to his side. “And some rice balls. Heart shaped.”

A beat. 

“Not on purpose. Wait, actually, yes, it is on purpose. I… thought you’d like them better if they’re heart shaped.”

You laugh, lowering your head slightly. It’s silent but visible—hitting him in the chest like an open chord strummed a little too hard. Your fingers then move through imagined strings, the pen still tangled between them, as you imitate a plucking motion. 

You point at the tiffin Dongmin’s still holding faithfully.

Dongmin blinks, waiting for you to write. 

Next time, make guitar shaped rice balls.

He grins, chuckling lightly. “Bet.” 

You step aside, pushing the gate open wider. You offer Dongmin a small smile, an invitation too quiet for such a vibrant soul like yours—like so many of your moments together—but it feels loud to him. 

Significant. 

He steps in. Waits for you to close the gate before syncing his steps with yours. 

As he’s walking next to you, he notices the calluses on your fingers again. Nothing he hadn’t noticed before, but this time, they seem more distinct. Faint, still, but it’s there. From hours of practice, writing, and physiotherapy. 

From holding on, even when your hand was begging to let go. 

Dongmin swallows thickly, moving his gaze away. 

It makes his heart ache in return. 

You pause when you reach the steps to your porch. You turn slightly to him. Write again. 

You slept. Right? 

You squint at him. Don’t lie. You look like you’re secretly a panda.

“Wow,” Dongmin says, mock-offended. He places the tiffin carrier on the floor of the porch. “There’s nothing wrong with being a panda, you know.”

You tap your cheek with your pen, frowning.

You’re avoiding the question.

He shrugs. His eyes linger elsewhere—suddenly finding the shady apple blossom tree planted on the other side of your porch interesting. “I was up late. You know—just… watching videos. Stuff.”

Is it KSL?

The pen hesitates.

Because I told you that you’re an idiot for not learning it?

Dongmin doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you, earnestly hoping you won’t notice the obvious emotions swirling in his chest. 

He chuckles. Shrugs. “Maybe. It’s a secret.”

You stare at him. The moment stretches like a held breath.

Your fingers move, slowly. Carefully.

You sign something.

Dongmin freezes. He doesn���t understand. Not a single thing. 

Your hands move with a fluency he can’t keep up with—beautiful, elegant, but it’s familiar. He probably could guess what you meant. He knows it isn’t long, that he could probably name one or two words. 

For a split second, he convinces himself he could guess. Maybe it’s something really simple, maybe you’re teasing him again by signing it really quickly. But the way your eyes are holding his, patient and hopeful, makes him realise this isn’t a game. You wanted him to understand.

He doesn’t.

Not yet.

But that isn’t enough—it’s like a song he’s bopping his head to but doesn’t know its chords.

He blinks. Again. And again. 

The truth hits him harder than the waves destroying a sandcastle—he has no idea what you just said.  

Frustration fills his heart quickly. How many times has this happened already—how many things have you signed, to villagers, to friends, to yourself, that he’s missed completely? How many words has he stolen from you, just by being too slow?

All those hours, days, up learning KSL and he barely understands anything.

The anticipation on your face wipes out instantly, replaced by a grimace. 

You take out your notebook again and write, the letters a little messier now:

Yeah. You really should learn KSL.

Dongmin quickly breaks into a laugh that comes out cracked. He covers his face with his hand like it’ll conceal the sting in his heart. “Okay, fine, I will.”

WEEK 10.

The next few days went by the same checklist. Dongmin would pick you up at your house, and the two of you would walk together towards the beach for another guitar session—if Mr Kim, your godfather, didn’t run into you two and drag you both to the market to help with his tteokbokki. 

It was repetitive, but Dongmin loved every minute of it. 

Even though your walks with him would be filled majorly with you snorting at his stiff attempts to sign his way through a conversation. 

Another week passes by. 

The evening sun had already bid its farewell to the sky, leaving behind a mesmerising blush of orange dabbed onto a canvas of lavender. The last notes of the practice session still hangs in the air, despite you leaving to grab some snacks ten minutes ago. 

Dongmin packs up, sliding his guitar gently into its case. Then, he realises something. 

He’s going to have to leave soon. 

Seoul is his place. Not this tranquil seaside town, where he could do anything he wanted freely. 

He’s been here for almost three months now. A lot has happened, and many weren’t what he expected—but he’s thankful. The villagers love him now, often dragging him to do farmwork whenever they see him strolling towards the beach.

He’s annoyed sometimes, but he often finds himself happy after lending a hand.

But he knows he’s not meant to stay for long. 

He stares at the spot next to him, on the fallen palm tree where you sat for hours, learning and persevering—just to learn how to play the guitar again. His guitar propped against your lap, your notebook open in the space between you and him, your handwriting halfway through the page. 

It feels still.

Too… still.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. 

It’s been more than the month he told himself he’d spend in this village. 

That’s all it’s been, but it feels more than that. The same 24 hours he used to spend in Seoul feels different now—like every minute is stretched thin and every moment brings him something he’d cherish for a lifetime. 

It seems like the snacks were taking a little bit longer than he hoped.

He sighs, sitting back down. He’s alone now, with the sea and the sound of his heartbeat in his ears harmonising to compose a beautiful song. 

He reaches for his phone. Replays the KSL tutorial for the fifth time that same day. The millionth time for the week. 

He mouths the words as he signs them.

“I… miss… you.”

“I hope… to see you… again.”

“Good… job.”

He runs a hand through his hair, gaining his composure. Then, he tries again.

Again, and again. Repeating every single phrase he possibly could, lifting his hands, slowly trying to remember the angle of the palm for every single expression. 

It’s clumsy, for sure. A little too stiff. Unnatural, one could say. 

But he does it again. 

Lips moving silently with the words his hands are signing, heart beating faster with every single moment. 

He doesn’t hear the footsteps until they stop behind him. 

His body tenses. He turns around, eyes widening slightly. 

You’re standing, just a few steps away, notebook clutched against your chest, lips parted slightly in disbelief. 

Dongmin’s hands are frozen mid-air, halfway through a sign. 

“Y/N,” he asks, a little breathless, “how long have you- how long were you…?”

You don’t answer him, of course.

Instead, you take a few steps closer, approaching him with widened eyes that were starting to sparkle. 

You lift your notebook and begin scribbling. 

You were practicing. 

Dongmin stammers, looking at his hands. “I- Y/N-”

For me?

A long pause settles between you and him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his hands plopping against his lap, “I wanted to learn… for you. So that I could talk to you without making you hold a pen all the time. I just–”

He exhales, shaky and filled with everything he couldn’t find the words for. 

“I didn’t want you to hurt yourself because of me.”

You don’t reply. Don’t scribble anything on your notebook.

Dongmin didn’t even notice at first. 

The notebook you’re holding slips to the ground, thudding against the sand. 

Tears begin to drip from your eyes, raining down your cheeks. 

Dongmin immediately stands up. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Are you okay–?”

Dongmin blinks—then freezes. Because your hands, trembling but sure, begin to move. 

Thank you.

I want to see you again too.

I will miss you too.

The last sign trembles between you, hanging thick in the air. 

For a moment, he forgets the tears streaming down your cheeks. He’s too busy watching your hands—watching them say the words he’s been breaking his fingers to learn, words he didn’t know he’d been desperate to hear back.

Dongmin stands there, his weight sinking in the sand, his chest twisting. 

Then, before he can stop himself, 

“Are you teaching me or–?” he blurts out, and it makes you snort. 

The soundless laugh that bursts out of you, even with your wet cheeks, hits him harder than any melody he’s ever written.

Dongmin looks up, feeling a tad guilty seeing you wipe your tears away. A smile blooms on your face as you shake your head. 

You pick up your notebook, writing down your reply. 

No, idiot, I was replying to what you said.

Dongmin snorts, rubbing the back of his neck like it’s going to save him from the embarrassment that’s starting to dawn on him. 

“You got me there,” he jokes half-heartedly, shrugging, but his eyes linger on you long after it settles. 

He’s going to learn KSL, for you, no matter how many sleepless nights it’s going to take. 

He won’t even think of leaving until he’s satisfied.

WEEK 12.

YOU work your way in the kitchen, cutting the zucchini into little matchsticks, pounding the ground beef, mincing garlic cloves, chopping onions. Your movements are like a ballad song, so smooth and subtle it’s almost comforting. Homey. 

You began cooking moments before Dongmin arrived, ringing your grandma’s doorbell with a grin on his face. You had already finished making the beef, noodles, mung bean sprouts and zucchini fillings when your grandma told you to answer the door. 

You went out and saw Dongmin. Through the gates’ bars, you could recognise him—his sharp jawline, the distinct shape of his nose, and the pair of eyes that looked like it contained a galaxy’s worth of stars. 

Your steps paused by the porch, unable to move forward. 

Today marks exactly three months since you first met him—twelve weeks filled with someone you’d never expect to plant his roots in your heart.

You remembered the first day very well—he didn’t even notice you. He was too carried away by the song of the waves he forgot about his very own melodies he was creating through mindless strums of the guitar.

The second day, you envied him. He looked like he didn’t appreciate his ability to play the instrument at all, muttering curses about music and production all day long. 

You almost swore to yourself you’d never come up to the beach to listen to him play again. 

But by the third day, you found your steps bringing you there anyway. Not too close. Not too far away. A perfect distance behind him—you could hear him singing along to the melodies he plucked on his guitar, but he couldn’t see you.

He possibly wouldn’t even notice you.

You were no one he’d want to pay attention to. 

Yet, he did. 

You weren’t even sure how that happened. How his guitar lessons—him being patient and encouraging through it all—happened. How he learned KSL for you, just so he could talk better with you happened.

“Y/N!” Dongmin exclaims, a huge grin forming on his face. He signs your name. 

It’s finally smooth and not awkward like it had been a week ago.

Oh.

It gives you flutters—the kind that settles on you like a butterfly on the cheek. 

Tingling.  

You run up to the gates and greet him, struggling to open them without getting your washed hands dirty again, but he beats you to it. 

“You’re cooking, right? I could smell it from here. What are you making?” Dongmin asks, closing the gates behind him. He jogs to catch up with you, who’s already at the porch by that time, his guitar bouncing in its case on his back. “Let me guess—rice balls?”

You frown, shaking your head. 

Dongmin chuckles, reaching for the door handle. “Too boring? Okay… bibimbap?”

You give him a deadpanned expression, and he bursts into laughter. He opens the door, letting you walk in first. Your grandma, who was folding laundry in the living room, immediately perks up. 

“Oh? Dongmin?” she approaches you two. “I didn’t know you were friends with my Y/N.”

“Hello Madam,” Dongmin replies, bowing slightly. He glances at you—you’re already looking at him, slightly wide eyed. 

He turns back to your grandmother. “Well, yes,” he nods, “we’re friends. I met her four months ago. You know, when I first came.”

You don’t know why you feel so happy hearing that. 

You bite back a smile, reaching for the mandu skins. 

“Y/N,” he calls, and you immediately turn to him, your hands pausing mid-air. 

He lifts his hands up. Signed. 

Want me to help?

You found yourself stuck. You don’t know what to say, what to sign back. 

Your heart stumbles. 

You should sign back—you know that—something easy, something simple. But your fingers won’t move. You just stand there, heat crawling up your neck, watching his hands like they’re the most beautiful melody you’ve ever seen.

You know he’d been learning KSL. It’s clumsy, still stiff and awkward most of the time. But it’s improving. 

But why are you finding yourself stuttering, forgetting how to breathe, every time he signs to you?

“COME,” Dongmin gestures to the empty spot next to him on your porch, facing the sunset. You could see the sun slowly sinking into the horizon, leaving behind a masterpiece as its parting gift to the sky. 

You slowly sit down, your grip on the bowl of mandu stronger. You glance at Dongmin, who’s sitting next to you, hands resting lightly on the floor behind him. You bring your knees closer to your chest. 

“I like it here,” Dongmin says, his voice low. “I don’t have to worry about anything.”

You purse your lips, staring at the way the palm trees are dancing with the wind. You shove a mandu into your mouth. Dangmyeon filling. 

Nothing is extraordinary here, you sign—pointing down toward the ground between you, tracing a small circle in the air, palms opening apart.

You’re not sure why he’s saying this. 

Dongmin replies, “I know. But you are.”

A beat. 

You slowly turn to look at him, the mandu that you always loved forgotten in your cheek. 

He’s already looking. 

His eyes swirling with emotions somehow identical to the ones raging a storm in your heart.

You quickly look away. 

You’ve gotten better at it, your hands move again, this time faster—finger aimed at him, fists tapping lightly, then a sweeping motion upward. 

“KSL?” Dongmin chuckles softly. “No, not as good as you.”

Your hands fall to your side, silence sinking between the two of you. You both don’t know what to say. 

But it doesn’t feel awkward, like what it’s supposed to feel. 

“Y/N, I…” 

You snap your head towards him. You know what he’s about to say. He’s about to leave soon, right—? 

“I wrote a song.”

Your eyes widen. Your hands immediately rise, your chin jerking upward to convey your shock: You did?

Dongmin smiles faintly. He nods. “Yeah. Shocking, right?”

You nod enthusiastically in return. You remember vividly how awful his composition was the past three months. You tried pitching in, fixing it here and there, but you had barely any knowledge and experience, so it was no use. 

“Do you want to listen to it?” he asks, a pendrive already in between his two fingers, extended to you. Casually. Like it doesn’t mean anything. 

But it means something. To you.  

You blink once. Twice. That small black pendrive, containing Dongmin’s music, suddenly feels like something so overbearing, so important. 

You don’t know what’s the meaning of the warm feeling that’s settling in your heart. You don’t know what’s making you hesitate. 

But you take it anyway. 

WEEK 13.

A week passed, and Dongmin still hadn’t heard back from you about the song he just finished composing after months of not being able to produce a single thing. 

Everything else was the same, he met you every single morning, spending the entire day either learning the guitar together by the beach or helping Mr Kim with his stall at the market. 

Was the song so bad that you didn’t want to talk about it ever again?

He also hadn’t been able to ask about it, despite spending the majority of his hours in a day with you.

But today finally gave him his chance.

In a way he didn’t expect. 

You had gone to Jeju with your godfather for your check-up that day, so Dongmin spent his hours alone. It felt weird—really weird, as he had gotten accustomed to having you by his side all the time. 

Dongmin didn’t want to admit it at first, but he missed you. 

He went out to the beach, sitting on the fallen palm tree as usual, making space for you. He strummed his guitar to get in the mood, but when he was done and wanted to pass it to you, you weren’t there. 

You were out of town for barely a day, but it felt like eternity. 

Dongmin quickly grew bored of his guitar. He spent hours practicing KSL in your absence, silently proud that he’s come so far—able to retell his day and can have an unbroken conversation with you for at least 10 minutes. 

By 7PM, his hands were aching, but he couldn’t wipe off the smile on his face. 

He’d gone so far. Into KSL. Into you. 

He didn’t expect his retreat to combat burnout would lead to this, but he doesn’t regret any of it. 

Ping! 

Dongmin immediately turns to his phone. It’s a text from you. 

Dongmin! I’m outside.

His eyes barely left your message before he jumps off his bed and bolts for the door. He opens it, barely steadying himself and catching a breath. 

“Hi,” he says through his panting, “you’re here?”

You nod, smiling. 

Your hands rise halfway, then falter. I had… 

Your fingers shift mid-motion, the sign dissolving. 

A small shake of your head restarting it. 

You start again, slower, deliberate—pointing to yourself, palms open as if you’re cradling an invisible ball, pulling it toward your chest. I want to give you something. 

Your hands push forward in a small offering.

Dongmin blinks, straightening up. 

“What?” he signs, his hands slightly cupped, shaken up and down, in a small, quick motion. A question that’s more worried than curious. 

You swallow, before letting your fingers curl into a simple two, then unfolding a flat palm. Two things.

You point to yourself again, draw your curved hands inwards, touching your chin and sending the gesture to Dongmin. 

I want to tell you two things. The “two” appears between you in the space your hands share. 

Your eyes meet his, and it feels like the world around you is paused—just you, Dongmin, and the wind gently blowing from the sea. 

You smile softly. Your index finger points at him, the movement small but very certain. Your hands flatten, palms facing each other, the right sliding upward against the left in a steady arc. Pause. Both hands open into a loose, curved shape, palms out, and you draw them toward your chest with a slow, deliberate pull, your head dipping in an earnest nod. You’ve improved. So much.

Dongmin’s eyes widen as soon as he registers the meaning of your signs. “Me?” he blurts, pointing to himself. His eyebrows shoot upwards, his mouth agape.

He quickly shakes his head. 

“No- no, no way,” he sighs. 

He lifts his hands, signing. A bit awkward, but it’s smooth. 

He points to himself. Both his hands form a fist, tapping against each other before quickly opening his palms, turning them down in a small shake. 

I’m not as good as you.

Dongmin stares at his hand for a second. He tries to not mouth his signs this time, wanting to speak to you solely through his gestures—clumsy and still a bit stiff, but he tries his best. 

You grin slightly, urging him to continue. 

Dongmin pinches his right hand upward from the palm of his left, his movements a bit jerky. His index finger does a circle in the air once.

I’ve only learnt this for…

He paused, murmuring. “What again?” 

He taps three fingers on the back of his left hand, sliding forward for “month”, after that. His “month” is slightly off—the arc is too short—but you’d understand.

Three months? 

He looks up, head slightly tilted. He flashes a sheepish grin at you. 

You mirror his smile, chuckling. 

You’ve improved so much! 

You continue signing, your hands moving gracefully—gesturing between yourself and Dongmin, index finger tapping your chin before pointing at him. It feels like we’ve been talking…

You open your hands in front of you, waving them in a small motion. …like this… 

You grin cheekily. 

 Your dominant hand circles slowly, outward, from your nondominant one, the motion small but deliberate. 

…since forever.

Dongmin feels his breath catching at the opening of his throat, his heart thumping loud in his ears. 

What is this feeling?

His fingers sign before his mouth could speak. 

He bends his index finger, pointing it downward, a small double movement. Then, he brings both of his index fingers upright, moving them towards each other until they meet. 

His spacing is a little too wide, too exaggerated. 

He points to you, sweeping “1” handshape in a short arc forward, slightly hesitant. 

“I needed to meet you first.”

Your eyes widen, again, but this time, it stays longer. Like you’re trying to process what you just heard.

The quiet between the two of you stretches long enough for the sound of the wind to slip in, teasing you as it stings the tip of your ears. 

Then, your hands move—quick for you, but steady enough for Dongmin to catch. 

You point to yourself, then curl your hand into a loose “C” shape, bringing it to your ear in a short twist—listen. Your finger flicks forward toward him, then you mime a small rectangle in the air—the pendrive.

I listened to the song. In the pendrive. 

Dongmin almost forgets how to breathe. A whole week he’s been carrying the silence of that pendrive around in his chest like a stone—and now, suddenly, you’re about to break it. His pulse hammers against his ribs, a mess of dread and hope and relief all at once.

“What?” he signs, his hands a little too sharp, betraying how badly he needs to know.

You grin slightly as you brush two fingers across your wrist then flip your hand palm-down. 

You switched from major to minor halfway.

Your fingertips press to your chest, eyes softened, nodding slightly. It feels more honest. 

You pause, then mimic slow steps with your fingers on your left palm, before closing your eyes briefly and lightly waving both hands forward in small arcs, palms down. 

It’s like walking barefoot in the dark, but in a good way.

But there’s a softness in your gaze that adds the unspoken: but with you, I’m not afraid.

Dongmin feels the air leave his lungs, a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. It hits him all at once—you’re not just talking about the song he made. 

You’re talking about him. 

Your face lights up like you just remembered something. Your hands move promptly. 

You point at him with your fingers, fingerspelling “verse”. Then, your right hand flicks outward from your chin—start—before you point to the imaginary fifth note from the line of musical notes in the air, tapping it twice. 

You always start your verses with the fifth chord, don’t you?

Your head tilts slightly, and Dongmin nods. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I guess I do.”

You don’t stop there. You drop your wrist, fingerspelling “chorus” afterward. A circling “6” near your temple. The drop before the chorus… was that a 6/8 timing? 

You smile slightly, hands precise and fluent. Your hands tilt like waves, then one hand curls towards your heart but freezes midair as your fingers reach out. 

It sounded like the sea. Longing. 

Finally, you sign as if trying to speak—hand at your lips—then pull it tight, as if holding it back.

Like someone trying to say something but is holding back. 

Dongmin stares. First at your hands, then at your eyes. He leans forward unconsciously, inching between the distance between you just to catch every flick of your fingers. His knee almost brushes yours. When your hands falter for a second, he doesn’t get why, but his instinct is to reach—just barely grazing your wrist before pulling back at the last second, before you could notice. 

The night air is cool, but the space between you feels unbearably warm.

“Thank you,” he manages, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. “I… that means a lot, Y/N.” 

A smile pulls at the edge of your lips. Eyes slightly downturned. 

It’s not cheeky, not teasing. Not the usual crooked grin that you flash to Dongmin—this one is smaller, shy. But sincere. 

And that alone is enough to make him stutter. 

A dawning realisation sinks into Dongmin. He knows what this feeling is. 

Love, of course. 

You point to him using your index finger, then your left palm up, right hand imitating a conductor’s baton above it. Following, your right hand starts in front of the mount in a claw-like shape, palm in, and moves outward as fingers spread. Like breath escaping and warming the air.

Your songs are warmer now. 

Something in Dongmin’s chest stumbles, then corrects itself. He swallows. His hands itch to respond, but for a moment, he can’t. The words feel too big, too heavy for his clumsy signs.

What could ever explain the feeling that flutters in his heart? 

He lifts his own hands, a small breath escaping his lips before he begins. His index finger points toward you, then both palms open toward you in a slow, careful motion that mirrors your warmth. Like he’s giving you something fragile. 

So are you.

IT’S the next morning—Dongmin came by to fetch you for another of your usual guitar sessions together, but was instead greeted by your grandmother.

“I sent Y/N on errands to the market, don’t worry,” your grandmother assures Dongmin, patting his back as she ushers him inside. The door clicks shut behind her, settling into the atmosphere with a heavy weight. 

“What’s the matter, ma’am?” he asks carefully. He’s in the middle of the living room, his body in an awkward position—not knowing if he should plop down onto the couch or just stand by the coffee table. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. 

The grandmother shuffles to the kitchen, her steps unhurried. She doesn’t answer right away. 

Her hands move quietly, pouring two glasses of water—her fingers shaking just slightly, but it’s enough to make the light on the surface ripple. Even so, beneath the tremor, Dongmin could see her steadiness, a kind of strength that came from years of hard work and weathered loss. 

“She loved it all, you know,” she begins, setting a glass in front of him. She exhales shakily. 

“Music. The guitar, especially. She loved everything that I see you love now. She used to play the guitar in a band with her high school friends. They were a big thing here in Tongyeong-si, winning local shows. They went to Seoul too. Almost won.” 

Dongmin finds himself smiling faintly. 

“It was everything she was. She was so good at it—been playing since she was a kid… wouldn’t go to bed without playing a few chords.” Her voice is accompanied by a small smile. Proud. But it falters. 

Dongmin opens his mouth to speak—he didn’t even know what he’d say, but he wanted to say something about it—but the old woman’s eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the walls, and her voice dropped. 

“But my Y/N lost everything,” her words are softer now, like if she spoke louder, the wounds would hurt even more.  “Her voice. Her joy.”

Dongmin could hear his heart skipping a beat. Heavy. 

The grandmother takes a deep breath. Steadying herself. “It was last year,” she says, her fingers curling around the glass tighter than before, “after her graduation in Seoul…” her voice falters, like it physically pained her to say these words, “she was in the car. With her parents.”

A breath, tight and shallow. 

“There was an accident. A… terrible… accident.”

You had told Dongmin, briefly, about it. 

But somehow, it stings his heart more now. 

Silence stretches between them for a while. 

“They didn’t come back,” she lifts her hands slightly, but quickly drops it. “And Y/N’s hand… her vocal cords… it’s not what it was. What it used to be. She tried to live with it. She tried to play anyway.”

The moments—the countless times where he’d seen you wrestle with the guitar, grunting whenever the chord didn’t land right, pushing through with a clenched jaw—crosses Dongmin’s mind. He’s seen it. Helped you through it. 

But hearing it from your grandmother, the old woman who tried her best to keep everything together when her own granddaughter was falling apart—it makes something ache. Deep inside his chest. 

“She wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t come out of her room. She would cry until she couldn’t anymore. I begged her–” she pauses, swallowing thickly, tears brimming at her eyes, “I begged her to come back here. To live with me. Seoul had nothing left for her but the ghosts of her parents and the shadows of a future she could’ve had. Too cold. Too cruel.”

She pauses, and in the brief silence, Dongmin understands what she was talking about. 

His throat tightens. He remembers those mornings where you’d barely nibble at the snacks he brought, your smile faint but your eyes elsewhere. He thought it was just your shyness—but hearing it now, it was so much heavier than that. It was something heavier that you were trying to pull yourself out from.

“Here, at least, I could watch her. Keep her close, grounded.”

Finally, the grandmother looks at him fully. His eyes widen, the breath he doesn’t realise he’s been holding slowly escaping. 

Her gaze, though tired, is unwavering. 

“But I’m glad you came here, Dongmin, for whatever reason you did. That day she first listened to you play at the beach—was it three months ago?—was the first time I saw her actually look forward to something.”

Her voice thins, almost breaking. Almost a whisper. “When she’s with you, I see something. Just a spark, but it’s there. You’re bringing her back. Just… please. Take care of her.”

Dongmin could only nod, his throat feeling tight. No words could amount to the weight of the moment, of what she’d just told him. 

He looks away, his jaw clenched against words that don’t exist. The plea truly feels like a weight pressed straight into his ribcage, like she’s handing him something sacred and fragile. He nods once again—any more and he’s sure his voice will crack open.

THAT night, Dongmin couldn’t sleep. 

But it wasn’t like the other nights he spent staring at the ceiling, feeling like he’s stuck in this hamster wheel of a slump—not able to do anything. 

He’s sitting at his desk, headphones on. His fingers type nonstop—fluently without major hitches as he’s transcribing the language his heart is speaking. 

Within a short amount of time, a complete song is born. 

He rereads it again. It’s too raw: a literal love confession.

Love, huh?

He closes his eyes, lowering his head as he feels a smile attack his cheeks. 

After a few deep breaths, he looks at it again. Stare at every word. An entire page of lyrics he typed out without properly thinking. 

His fingers hover above the keyboard. Maybe it’s too much. 

It probably is too much. Dongmin didn’t even know what he was feeling at first—his hastened heartbeat whenever he saw you sign, the way he couldn’t control his smile around you. 

He doesn’t know if it’s enough. If the words he used were even adequate to represent what he’s feeling. 

He stares at the page again. The words don’t just confess love—they promise. Not in the put together, polished way he usually writes songs, but messy and urgent. Like he’s telling you, I’ll take care of you. I’ll stay.

His fingers hit the keyboard again, rewriting some parts—trying his best to make it less direct. 

But no matter how many times he presses backspace and replaces words with every single synonym he could search, the truth still bleeds out. 

He likes you. 

The room is completely quiet—just the faint sound of insects outside and the soft buzz of his compact amp. He whispers the lines to himself, cringing slightly, almost embarrassed at how… honest they are. 

He laughs at himself. Hushed, but freely. 

The composition of the song comes very fluidly soon after that. But he doesn’t realise how much time has passed—the sun is now rising, painting the sky in soft hues of yellow and orange—and he hasn’t slept a wink. 

However, to Dongmin, that was fine. He doesn’t care because now, displayed on the screen in front of him, is the mp3 file containing the first song he’s ever written for and about someone else. 

Someone that makes his heart flutter every time she smiles. 

Someone that his heart holds dear. 

Someone that he loves.

6 MONTHS LATER...

THE spotlight dims, and all he can see now is the ocean of lightsticks and flashlights, sparkling like a faraway galaxy. The cheers still ring in Dongmin’s ears, like waves crashing onto the sandy beach, quiet and calming. But he could barely hear them anymore. 

The waves. 

No, the cheers. 

His mind is elsewhere—always elsewhere these days. 

Somewhere where the air was salty and filled with clumsy strums of the E chord. 

Somewhere where he could see her every day. 

Dongmin bows deeply, thanks the crowd, and gives his usual post-performance speech. His agency had let him officially play in a band with 5 of his other friends alongside being their main producer. And this stage was one of the many successful ones. 

And then, like he always did at the end of a particular song, he takes a step forward and raises his hands. 

He signs slowly. Deliberately. 

I miss you. 

I hope to see you again. 

He smirks slightly, knowing how corny it is. But he means it.

The crowd explodes into a plethora of screams and squeals. 

Some fans clutched their banners to their chests, some began to cry, some waved their hands, mimicking the signs he did earlier. The camera zooms in, broadcasting every angle of his signs to the world—like he just uttered the most life-changing poetry of the entire century. 

But they don’t know who the signs are for. 

They don’t know her name. 

He never told anyone. 

But she—you—was the muse behind the melody, the one person he kept playing this song for, the reason why he always fought to keep this song on their setlist. The person made him able to even write this song.

He waits, each time, just in case.

Just in case, somehow, life brings you back together. 

Tonight, he tells himself as he follows his bandmates backstage, it would be no different. 

Backstage is a blur of assistants, praise, and handshakes. He nods through it all, mind already drifting elsewhere—he’s grateful, of course, but evidently distant. The band’s manager is now talking about interviews and photoshoots, but he’s already thinking ahead—wondering if he’d get at least a few hours of quiet time to revise some lyrics he was working on. 

Maybe to tone it down a bit, make it simpler. Something warmer. Something she could play. 

He’s nearly out the exit of the stadium, his bag slinged over his back, when someone taps his shoulder. 

He turns around, already muttering a line of nonstop apologies. 

And freezes. 

You’re standing there, in front of him, in a soft cardigan, eyes shining beneath the low backstage light. 

Your hair is longer now, cascading past your elbows. But your gaze is still the same—sincere, sweet, and full of life. 

He drops his bag without realising. 

“Y/N…” he whispers. 

But before he can say anything else, you lift your hands. 

You point to yourself—small, steady—then taps the space between your feet with both hands, palms down, as if grounding yourself: here. Your hands sink slightly and settle, a quiet now that lands between you.

Your fingers are trembling, slightly, but the sign is clear. 

Or maybe it’s clearer now because Dongmin had spent every single day, for the past six months after departing from Tongyeong-si, learning KSL—even attending several certificate classes for it. 

I’m here now. 

His breath catches in his throat, and his vision begins to blur. 

And for a moment, the world around—the cameras, the noise, the flashing lights, the chatter of the rest of his bandmates, the chaos of Dongmin’s life–falls silent. 

It’s just you. 

He steps forward. Slowly. 

He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t rush, doesn’t say anything—heck, he’s afraid that if he breathed too loudly or blinked too soon, you’d vanish into thin air. 

Then, with hands that had plucked chords and learned words, aching just for you—he signs back. 

I miss you. 

He touches his chest, curls the feeling inward, and reaches toward you without quite touching—then pulls it back to his heart, the motion catching halfway like a held breath.

Every day. 

He repeats a simple day motion—edge of his hand crossing his other forearm—once, twice, three times, smaller each time, as if the days stepped closer toward you.

You smile. A real, wide smile. No hesitation, no underlying sadness hidden by a wall of teasing. Just pure happiness. 

Then you sign, quick and cheeky, like you always do with him—because it simply feels right. A quick flick at your wrist—signing ‘finally’—then you point at him with a barely-suppressed smile.

For his name, you trace a soft shape of his initials at your shoulder and let your hand drop in a tiny strum across your palm—his name sign that he used, found online courtesy of his band’s fans, music tucked into his initials.

Took you long enough, Han Dongmin. 

He pauses, staring at your hands—that literally just signed his name in KSL in the most beautiful way he’d seen. 

He never told you his KSL name, but somehow, you know what it is. 

He laughs slightly, half-choked by unshed tears. “You waited?”

You raise a brow, head tilting slightly. You gently sign—two fingertips walk across your open palm—‘step by step’. You tap your temple and bring the thought down into the space between you—‘remember’.

You show one, then shape your right hand like a loose pinched cluster over your left—fret and strings—giving the air a gentle strum: ‘one chord’, then a second small, slower strum: ‘at a time’. 

Step by step, remember? One chord at a time.

A moment passes.

Dongmin didn’t mean to cry.

He never does. Prefers not to. Publicly, at least. 

It wasn’t the overwhelming shutter of cameras, the lights, or the exhaustion the concert brought him. It wasn’t the pressure or the noise. It’s you—always you—standing there with that soft smile of yours.

The moment shatters something in him.

His body moves before his brain can do anything. He crosses the space between you in two strides, wrapping his arms around your body—pulling you as close as he physically can, careful but awfully desperate. Your head tucks perfectly under his chin—so flawlessly it’s like the two of you were tailored for each other. 

You don’t flinch. 

Instead, you wrap your own arms around his waist, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt as you try your best to contain your tears. 

“You’re really here, right?” he whispers, his chin shaking against your hair.

You swallow, nodding. Your cheek brushes against the wool of his sweater vest, warm. 

He pulls back soon after that, just enough so he could look at your face. His eyes still watering and cheeks wet, he asks rapidly,

“Are you hungry?” he laughs slightly, wiping his cheeks, “I wanna treat you. Don’t care if the food here is more expensive. You better be hungry, Y/N.”

You grin and immediately sign back.

Starving. 

THE two of you end up at a tucked away restaurant, a short drive from Gocheok Skydome. Nothing fancy, really—just two bowls of hot noodles, some mandu (because he knows you still love them), and a quiet booth near the window. The kind of place he knew, instantly, that you would’ve loved. 

He lets you eat in peace for a while. He watches you, his chopsticks empty in his hands, eyes tracing the familiar way your brows connected as you try to comprehend how delicious the broth is. 

You look up, and immediately catch him staring. Your eyes widen—Dongmin flushes and looks away sharply, suddenly very shy. 

He steals a glance, and one look at your expression tells him what you’re thinking: are you really supposed to be the one shy right now?

You chuckle soundlessly, pulling out your phone. Still chewing remnants of mandu, you type and then show him:

You know, Dongmin, I’ve been listening to your songs nonstop, ever since you left. I’m your fan now!

Dongmin pauses, raising a brow. “Really? You like my songs?”

You nod—quickly typing again before flipping your phone over to him. 

Today was my first concert ever. 

His heart flips. 

He could literally feel it.

He opens and closes his mouth, trying not to ramble—but shy Dongmin isn’t something even his brain can control. “I—I didn’t know. I mean, I always hoped… But I didn’t think—God, Y/N, every song I released since I met you—all of them—they were about you. Every single one.”

You pause, your eyes widening slowly as your cheeks begin to redden beyond the blusher you applied.

Dongmin runs a hand through his hair, flustered and avoiding eye contact—but his voice is soft, though it’s tumbling with years’ worth of affection. Saved for the right person. Now overflowing for you. 

“I mean, yeah, you couldn’t tell. I never say your name. But you’re in everything—every melody, every lyric. Every time I closed my eyes at the studio, every time I plucked my guitar at pracice—even though it’s not acoustic—I see you.”

He stops, clearly embarrassed now. 

You quietly chortle, your cheeks probably redder than a tomato now. 

But something certain clicks in you.

He rubs the back of his neck. “That sounds weird. Intense probably, huh…”

Before he could spiral any further, you reach out, catching his wrist lightly. He freezes instantly. 

Then—softly, boldly—you lean in. 

Your lips brushes his. Brief. Barely there.

But it’s warm enough to stop time. 

He stares at you, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his soul. 

You pull back just an inch, nose still slightly brushing, eyes sparkling. You then sign slowly:

I like you too. 

― © htaesan, 2025. all rights reserved.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓����𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[eunandonly]

GIRL COME BACK💔💔

I WILL LET ME LOG BACK IN

[eunandonly]

may i request another respawn our kids miss you

yall wifey loves me sm she personally came to look for me i got logged out of instagram and haven't bothered to log back in I WILL SOON trust

[eunandonly]

first day of school tmr on a flipping friday this will be the end of me but i am prepared to fill out 47 all about me worksheets and correct the pronunciation of my name 103 times

[eunandonly]

hello i js ragequit 99 nights in the forest played w some random ppl and they ate all the food, bought shelves and a freezer with all that resources INSTEAD OF A MAP AND A COMPASS and stole my bunny foot.

[eunandonly]

in the fucking trenches after eating four mala konjac shuangs my throat is BURNING

[eunandonly]

this is not okay i have 300 edits of geum seongje saved on tiktok why am i so obsessed with this man who had like 30 minutes of screen time MAX and he's such a red flag too we got ppl saying he would actually be such a softie but lets be ffr he would beat the shit out of you lee junyeong you really are something else can't believe when life gives you tangerines and weak hero class 2 was filmed so close together don't play

[eunandonly]

please reblog, donate, everything counts. i’ll also be spreading this to people i go to school with!!

boost: @starriniqhts @wonziz @itjengirl @lilyberyls @liwinly

Hello, I'm Asmaa from north Gaza.

https://chuffed.org/project/129260-urgent-please-help-asma-and-shahd-to-survive-this-genocide

I come from a lifeless neighborhood with no color other than the color of blood and destruction.

I was born in 1991.

I'm a girl from a family of seven boys and six girls, and I'm the youngest.

My mother and I live in a house left to us by my father. I studied at university and graduated with a degree in basic education.

I worked in a private job.

I received a salary that covered my and my mother's expenses as much as possible.

We were happy until the war came.

The war on Gaza began on October 7, 2023.

Here, hell began for us in Gaza. I lost my job and became unemployed. My mother owns nothing, and I own nothing.

My mother was displaced to the southern Gaza Strip for 15 months. I didn't go with her. It was months of longing for my mother and siblings.

My brothers Mahmoud and Ashraf stayed behind.

We were displaced several times because I live in the Shuja'iyya neighborhood, a border area close to the army.

During the displacement on June 27, 2024, we left the house and raced along the road to escape the shells and planes. Then came the lightning strike. The shock was that death was faster than my brothers could escape...

Here, here, we lost our loved ones. I lost my brothers, the apple of my eye, Mahmoud and Ashraf. Mahmoud left no children. As for Ashraf, he left behind his sons who grieve, and my mother is in pain because they departed to God without a farewell, without a kiss on their foreheads, a farewell kiss. After a while, we returned home. The house had been severely damaged by demolition and stones that had fallen from their places, which used to shelter us and protect us. Now, nothing protects us except some worn-out tarpaulins that do not protect us from the heat of summer or the cold of winter. Our suffering is great, but with your help, we may reach a better and dignified life. I appeal to you to help me support myself, my mother, my loved ones, and my family. What you provide makes a difference in our lives as individuals.

We live in a world that has forgotten the meaning of humanity and giving. May God bless you all.

[eunandonly]

fuck geum seongje from weak hero class 2 is so fine FUCKKKKKK rewatching js for him

[eunandonly]

good luck you got this!! and tysmm im powering through haha 😅😅 and ohh no ik what ur going thru 😭😭 sending you strength!! and dont forget to appreciate the summer too, it's a much needed break from the busy tasks of the rest of the year ^^

aww thanks aylin mwahmwah!! hope your summer classes don't give you a hard time <3

[eunandonly]

the telepathy is real hehehe and omggg long fic it's so gonna slay when you finish. i already know future me just told me trust. and naurrr real i feel the leehan shaped space in my heart grow with every passing day he's so !!?!?!? ANYWAY IM GOOD HAHA just. making it through summer classes lolll wbu?

nah fr the telepathy is working it's magic yesss i'm so excited for the long fic as well but i'm kind worried bc i don't want any plot holes or anything wish me luckkkk!! and i'm so glad to hear you've been doing good, make sure to get a lot of rest and stay hydrated!! hope you're enjoying your summer classes ~ i'm doing good as well, i've mostly been studying through summer bc i'm at the age where school is actually getting serious (kill me now)

[eunandonly]

babes i missed yo ass 💔

well hello i missed yo ass as well 🥀 🥀 

[eunandonly]

EUN HIII you disappeared off my dash i was like. why do i feel like something is missing. turns out it was you who was missing </3 hruuuuuuu (other than down bad for leehan bc aren't we all lowk-)

omg HIIII AYLIN this is interesting bc js yesterday night i was thinking “hmm i haven’t interacted with aylin in ages let me send her an ask tmr morning” and i open my inbox and you’re already here >< and i’m doing good!! i’ve been a bit busy though and i haven’t been posting any works for ages BUT DO NOT FRET i’m working on my first long fic rn ~ and yes i’m down bad for leehan that man is driving me insane ANYWAYS HOW ARE YOU?????

[eunandonly]

hi guys did i ever mention that i love leehan and that he's the most breath taking, attractive most alluring man ever you cannot be telling me he gets to look like that AND be a good singer/dancer/my bf am i delusional yes am i crazy yes studying maths is doing smth weird to my brain bc what do you mean functions and domain and two equal roots when leehan exists i may hate maths but leehan is here so its ok hes so fine and yes today will be a good day because boynextdoor content is dropping simple things can make you happy always remember that #bless thank the lord i was born in the generation where i co exist with leehan that itself is an honour wdym i breathe the same air as him wdym we have the same hometown LET THAT SINK IN also leehan posted on weverse like two hours ago and yes yes brown hair leehan yes we are so back looking forward to that japanese album but they need to get some rest fr yes i went crazy after their bling bang bang born cover i should've been there to witness it now i need to go on grow a garden my sugar apples must turn tranquil and i need more taro blossoms or wtv they're called they're so cute how does one get a kitsune no one getting that stupid animal (i want it) and i also need to do more maths i have chinese tuition soon and im writing a longass fic so bear w my disappearance it will be good trust me will release a teaser when im almost done with it live laugh love leehan guys

[eunandonly]

really curious abt how the hybe music group auditions are going to go about. are they going to assign passed auditionees to labels as they wish as soon as contracts are signed? or will they keep them in a big talent pool that labels can recruit from as needed? because i've never heard of a "hybe trainee". maybe hybe will train them with the basics and the ones they deem is ready enough will be put through evaluations where the labels can take trainees they want under their company? idk

[eunandonly]

bro i just know ni-ki tattoo (if it's real) hurt like shit

[eunandonly]

TS_Muse